


The Call to Destiny

by EmrystheWarlock



Series: The Mayhem of Mercia [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Prince Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmrystheWarlock/pseuds/EmrystheWarlock
Summary: Merlin is adjusting to his role as Prince of Mercia. Luckily, Arthur is there to help him...for now, anyway.





	The Call to Destiny

_Merlin dreamt of darkness and chaos and war. He saw battle through the eyes of an unknown warrior on the scape of a barren plain, the screams and rallying cries of other men surrounding him. The clashing of iron and steel rang out. The pleadings of dying men who scrabbled at his clothing and person, desperate for one last chance at life called to him. He ignored them all, though it pained him. Instead, he adopted a mask of cool indifference, slipping into the role of the mysterious and ever elusive King of the Night Court and strolled lazily through the battlefield and to the one person that could end this._

_“You have fought well, Lord of Darkness.” The figure remarked calmly, observing the field. Swirls of darkness surrounded him, draping over him like a heavy cloak. He did not turn to face the warrior._

_“Not well enough. Many of my men are dead or will be come morning. I should have done more to save them.”_

_“What are the lives of a hundred men compared to that a whole city?” Merlin felt the warrior bristle with anger. His arm went to rest on the pummel of his sword, which lay undrawn. A subtle threat._

_“Every life lost is a tragedy.” He retorted coldly. “No matter who they are and what crimes they have committed.” The figure only smiled grimly and turned to face him. His features were hidden due to the presence of the overwhelming shadows, but his icy blue eyes were clear enough, drawn down to the hand resting on the warrior’s sword hilt. He didn't seem fazed by it._

_“Except for me, I suppose.”_

_“Especially for you.” The man ignored him, whether because he didn't believe him, or perhaps because he_ did, _Merlin thought._

_“I cannot fix this. Beron’s hold is too strong, even for me. The darkness will consume me.”_

_“It won’t.” The warrior countered. Merlin suspected there was more to this than two enemies meeting on the battlefield. They knew each other-personally. He stepped forward, offering a pleading hand to the figure. “Take it.” He said. “Let me help you.”_

_“I won't drag you into this mess.”_

_“I’m already waist deep in it! Me helping you find yourself again won't change that.”_

_“Still-“ “Look around you, Arthur.” The warrior gestured a hand wildly around him to the battle field. The figure-Arthur-flinched as if struck, and Merlin’s insides turned to ice._ This cold hearted Lord of Darkness. Arthur? _It couldn't be. “I am just as much a part of this war as you are. Men died today-good honest men whose only crime was to fight in the name of freedom, under the names of mine and yours. Would your forsake their sacrifice by giving up?”_

_Arthur only blinked at him, his face, which Merlin could now see clearly, blank with shock. “Would you?” The warrior pressed. Finally, Arthur seemed to gather some semblance over himself._

_“Merlin…” He murmured. For a moment, Merlin thought he was talking to him, as if he knew there was an intruder there. But no. He wasn't talking to him. At least, not yet. The warrior looked straight into his eyes._

_“Please.” Merlin-the warrior-said. His arm was still outstretched. Arthur looked between his hand and Merlin’s pleading face._

_“I-“_

  
Merlin jolted awake with a gasp. Beside him, Arthur dozed fitfully, lounging in a wooden chair by the bed where he lay. Arthur’s hand rested near his, a silent reassurance. Merlin stared dazedly at him, trying to sort through what was reality and what was fiction, dreamt up by his own dark thoughts. “Just a dream.” He murmured. _Nothing. Just a dream._

And he found himself inclined to believe that…if it weren't for what happened next.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

  
As the weeks passed, Merlin forgot all about his strange dream on the night he was revealed to be Lot’s sole heir. Instead, his thoughts were filled with lessons on the ideals of nobility, of learning this Lord’s name and how that Lady liked her tea. No longer was he Merlin, servant of Prince Arthur of Camelot and friend of the unfortunate. No, now he was Merlin, the sophisticated and unmerciful Prince of Mercia and her savior. There wasn't time to play games anymore. It didn't matter. He thought. I stopped playing them a long time ago.

Arthur was his shining white beacon in an otherwise dark and foggy sky. He taught him how to be royalty, and was strict to a fault, but he also provided a shoulder to lean on when things became too much. On that first night after the feast, he led him away from the crowds and straight to his chambers. He lay him on the soft sheets and tucked him in as one would a child, muttering reassurances all the while. He became his confidant, one he could turn to at any time. Merlin didn't know if he was ashamed or not to know how much he relied on Arthur as his sole comfort in this new life of strange customs and mannerisms.

That’s why, when the time came for the Mercian party to return to their court (and Merlin with them), he was understandably upset and even retorted to pleading on his hands and knees ( _not at all princely, Merlin. Arthur complained_ ) to get his way.

“Please, please come with me.” Merlin begged. Other than a vaguely sympathetic look, Arthur didn't do anything. “Please.” He drew out.

“I can’t.” Arthur retorted firmly. He wouldn't look at him. Around them, the rest of the party made final preparations for their departure.

“Why not?” Merlin almost whined. Almost.

“Merlin,” He sighed, as if explaining to a small child, “You, as the soon-to-be Crown Prince of Mercia, are untried. You have no experience in either physical combat or the political kind. People will seek to undermine you and perhaps take your birth right as their own.”

“I don’t see how this any way deters you from coming with me to Mercia, Arthur.” Merlin pouted. “In fact, it should only serve as more reason for you to come with me. I need someone there who can help me-someone I can trust.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, heaving out a deep sigh. He looked regretful even as he denied Merlin what he so desperately sought.

“There is one thing though, Merlin.” He looked Merlin straight in the eyes and Merlin had the strangest sense of deja vu. Those icy blue eyes pierced into his. “The court you are returning to, Merlin. It’s dangerous. Don't trust the nobility there. They are as sly and as sneaky as a fox. They will betray you at the soonest opportunity.” Arthur spoke to him as if he were sending him off to battle. Merlin found that he didn't like it. Not one bit.

“They can't be that bad.”

“Merlin, the court you are entering has a name-a reputation. The Court of Nightmares.” He said. “The Night Court.” Merlin froze. That dream. Perhaps not a dream. A few feet away, not quite within hearing distance, Prince Kay stood. He was staring at him, cold green eyes, the eyes of the sea where he hailed from, bored into his eyes. Merlin fought not to shiver. It seemed he would not be making fast friends with his half-brother. _Half-brother_. He'd rather be related to a wyvern-a snarling, vicious wyvern.

Perhaps Kay knew more than he let on from the way he was staring at him. Perhaps he knew about the magic-and the dream. It was not a comforting thought.

“Be careful, Merlin.” Arthur warned. He too had caught on to Kay’s unnerving stare. “Half-decent servants are hard to come by.” Merlin smirked.

“Not your servant,” He muttered, though not unhappily, “Not anymore.”

“No. Your not.” Arthur smiled brightly at him. Merlin knew him well enough to know it wasn't his real one. Perhaps he was just as miserable to have Merlin gone as Merlin himself was. “Off you go then.” He nudged gently. There were no tears. Arthur wasn't good at those. Instead, as if by last thought, he pulled him into a tight one-armed hug. Merlin let himself melt into it. He clung to Arthur desperately and let himself think, _I won't let go. I won't let go_.

But he did and too soon did he find himself astride a horse, the one that Arthur had given him several years ago as a subtle birthday gift, and turning from the proud faces of those he had come to love as his family, Gwen and Gaius and Arthur and many, many more. Away from the shining castle of Camelot, his home and toward his destiny. But perhaps the two were intertwined.

“This is not the end.” Arthur had told him fiercely as he had hugged him with all his worth. _No_ , Merlin allowed himself to smile. “Sire?” One of the Mercian guards asked. Merlin waved him away.

_No. It wasn’t._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for the Kudos and Comments from Part 1 everyone! It really means a lot. You should see me posting more frequently now that I have a new MacBook (working from an iPad is NOT fun.) Expect Part 3 sometime soon, perhaps in a week or two.


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